Chapter 5: Aftermath

Kunal released her hair. The sudden absence of pressure made Aloma's head drop forward. Her forehead nearly hit the glass railing.

"Get inside," he said.

His voice had gone flat. No anger. No excitement. Just a command delivered with the same tone he used in Monday morning meetings when assigning tasks to junior employees.

Aloma tried to stand. Her legs wouldn't cooperate. The trembling had spread from her thighs to her knees. Everything below her waist was either numb or shaking so badly she couldn't trust it to support her weight.

She dropped to her hands and knees instead. The balcony floor was cold under her palms. Small bits of grit pressed into her skin.

The thong was still tangled around her ankles. She tried to kick it off but the elastic just stretched. Stayed wrapped around her left ankle like a pathetic reminder of what she'd become.

Kunal stepped back from the railing. Moved toward the glass door. He wasn't watching her anymore. Just waiting.

Aloma started crawling. Her hands moved forward one at a time. Then her knees followed. The movement was awkward and humiliating. She'd never crawled naked in front of anyone before. Never been reduced to moving like an animal while a man watched.

The distance between the railing and the glass door couldn't have been more than three meters. It seemed endless.

Her small breasts hung beneath her. Swaying slightly with each movement. The cold air had her nipples so hard they actually hurt.

Come was still leaking out of her. Running down her inner thighs. Some of it dripped onto the balcony floor. Left a trail behind her as she crawled.

She reached the doorway. Paused there for a second. Kunal was standing inside the penthouse. Leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. His cock had gone soft but was still visible. Still wet with their combined fluids.

His expression was unreadable. Just watching her with the same detached interest he showed when reviewing quarterly reports.

Aloma crawled past him. Through the doorway and back into the climate-controlled interior. The temperature change hit her immediately. Warm air against her cold skin. The contrast made her shiver worse.

She made it maybe two meters inside before his hand was in her hair again.

The grip was sudden and brutal. Fingers tangling near her scalp. Yanking her head back at that same painful angle he seemed to prefer.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked.

She didn't have an answer. Hadn't thought past just getting inside. Away from the exposure. Away from the possibility of being seen by more neighbors.

Kunal started walking. Still gripping her hair. Pulling her along like she was a piece of luggage on wheels.

"Wait," she managed. Her voice came out hoarse. Damaged from all the screaming and crying. "I can't walk. My legs—"

He ignored her completely. Just kept moving at the same steady pace. Through the living room. Past the kitchen. Toward the far end of the penthouse where the master bedroom was located.

Aloma had no choice but to scramble along behind him. Her knees hit the floor hard with each step. The marble was unforgiving. She'd have bruises tomorrow.

The thong finally came free from her ankle somewhere near the hallway. She didn't look back to see where it landed.

They passed through the master bedroom. Aloma caught glimpses of expensive furniture. A massive bed with white sheets. Floor-to-ceiling windows with automated blinds. Everything was pristine and perfect. The kind of bedroom that belonged in architecture magazines.

Kunal dragged her into the bathroom. The space was bigger than her entire studio apartment. Marble everywhere. Double sinks. A separate toilet room. A bathtub that could fit three people easily.

The shower was in the far corner. A walk-in design with glass walls and multiple showerheads. No curtain. No door. Just an open space tiled in dark gray.

He pulled her to the entrance of the shower. Released her hair. She collapsed forward. Caught herself on her hands before her face hit the tile.

"Stay there," he said.

She heard him moving behind her. Footsteps crossing the bathroom. Then the sound of water starting.

The spray hit her without warning. Ice cold. The temperature made her gasp and try to scramble away. But Kunal's hand was on her back. Pushing down. Keeping her in place under the freezing stream.

"Please," she said. The word came out as a whimper. "It's too cold."

"You need to cool down," he said. "You're overheated."

The water came from one of the overhead fixtures. A rainfall pattern that covered most of the shower floor. There was no escaping it.

Aloma's teeth started chattering. The cold was shocking after the warmth of the penthouse. After the heat that had been building in her body for the past hour.

Her skin erupted in goosebumps. Her nipples got even harder. Everything tightened and clenched.

Kunal stepped into the shower. He was still fully clothed. Designer jeans. Button-down shirt. Expensive leather shoes that were definitely not meant to get wet.

The water soaked through his clothes immediately. His shirt went transparent. Clung to his heavy frame. The jeans darkened and sagged.

He didn't seem to care. Just moved further into the spray until he was standing directly under the main showerhead.

Water streamed over his face. Plastered his hair to his skull. Ran down his chest and stomach.

"On your knees," he said.

Aloma was already on her hands and knees. She shifted back. Sat up slowly. Her legs were still trembling but she managed to get into a kneeling position.

Kunal unbuttoned his jeans. The wet denim was stubborn but he got the zipper down. Pushed the waistband low enough to free his cock.

Still soft. But already starting to show signs of interest again.

"Wash it," he said. "With your mouth."

The command was clear. Degrading. Exactly the kind of thing she should have refused.

She leaned forward instead. Opened her mouth. Took him inside.

The taste was overwhelming. Their combined fluids. The bitter edge of come mixed with her own wetness. The shower water washing over everything but not quite cleaning it.

Aloma used her tongue. Traced along the underside of his shaft. Lapped at the head. Took him deeper and let the water flow into her mouth before swallowing.

Kunal's cock started hardening. Growing in her mouth. The transformation was gradual but steady.

His hand moved to her hair. Wet red strands that were plastered to her head and shoulders. He gathered a handful. Didn't pull yet. Just held it.

"Deeper," he said.

She took him further. Felt the head hit the back of her throat. Tried to relax. To suppress the gag reflex that wanted to reject the intrusion.

The shower water kept falling. Running over both of them. Creating a constant background noise that made everything else seem distant.

Kunal's grip on her hair tightened. He started pulling. Not dragging her forward this time. Just controlling the angle. Tilting her head back slightly. Opening her throat more.

She choked. Couldn't help it. The angle was wrong and he was too deep.

"Breathe through your nose," he said.

She tried. Focused on pulling air in through her nostrils while he occupied her mouth. It helped. A little.

He started moving. Small thrusts at first. Just rocking his hips forward and back. Testing how much she could take.

Then he went deeper. Held himself there. Counted silently in his head before pulling back and letting her gasp.

The pattern repeated. Each time he went a little deeper. Stayed a little longer. Gave her less time to recover between thrusts.

Aloma's hands moved to his thighs. Gripped the wet denim. Not pushing away. Just holding on.

Her destroyed makeup was washing away in the shower. Black streaks running down her face. Eyeliner mixing with mascara. Creating dark rivers that disappeared into the drain.

Kunal pulled out completely. His cock was fully hard now. Glistening wet. Ready.

"Stand up," he said. "Turn around."

She stood on shaking legs. Used the wall for support. Turned to face the dark tiles.

"Hands on the wall."

She placed her palms flat against the marble. The surface was cold and slick with water.

Kunal moved behind her. She expected him to enter her. To fuck her against the shower wall the same way he'd fucked her over the kitchen counter.

Instead he just grabbed her hair again. Yanked her head back. Forced her to arch her spine.

"Open your mouth."

She did. Confused about what he wanted.

He shoved three fingers inside. Past her lips. Over her tongue. Deep enough to make her gag.

"Suck them," he said. "Get them wet."

She sucked. Coated his fingers with saliva. Tasted the shower water and the lingering traces of herself.

He pulled his fingers out. Moved his hand between her legs. Found her entrance. Pushed all three fingers inside without warning.

The penetration was sudden and rough. She cried out. The sound echoed off the marble walls.

"Still wet," he said. "Even after all that. Even with cold water. You're still fucking soaked."

He wasn't wrong. Despite the temperature. Despite the exhaustion and the fear and the shame. Her body was responding. Clenching around his fingers. Creating more wetness to mix with the come that was still inside her.

Kunal fingered her roughly. No technique. No attempt at pleasure. Just crude thrusting while he kept her head pulled back by her hair.

Water continued falling over them. Creating a steady rhythm that competed with the wet sounds of his fingers moving inside her.

He pulled out. Positioned himself. She braced against the wall.

The penetration was brutal. He slammed into her in one thrust. Buried himself completely. Used his grip on her hair to pull her back onto his cock.

The angle was different from the balcony. More vertical. The wall gave her something to push against.

Kunal fucked her hard. Each thrust rocked her forward. Made her hands slip slightly on the wet marble. She had to keep readjusting. Keep finding purchase.

His free hand grabbed her hip. Fingers digging into the bone. Leaving marks. Adding to the collection he'd already created.

The shower amplified everything. Every slap of skin. Every gasp. Every grunt. The sounds bounced off the walls and ceiling. Creating an echo that made it seem like there were multiple people in the shower instead of just two.

Aloma's small breasts bounced with each thrust. Hit the cold wall occasionally. The sensation was jarring. Uncomfortable. But it didn't slow Kunal down.

He shifted his grip. Both hands in her hair now. Using it like reins. Pulling her head back at an extreme angle.

Her back arched until it hurt. The position exposed her throat. Made her feel vulnerable and helpless.

"Look up," he said.

She did. Stared at the ceiling. At the showerhead that was pouring water over them.

"Count," he said. "Count every thrust."

Another humiliation. Another way to make her participate in her own degradation.

"One," she said. Her voice was weak. Barely audible over the water.

"Louder."

"One!" she shouted.

He pulled out almost completely. Slammed back in.

"Two!"

The counting continued. Each number was a reminder of what was happening. Of how many times he'd used her. How many times she'd let him.

They reached twenty before Kunal changed his approach. He pulled out completely. Spun her around. Pushed her down.

She fell to her knees hard. The impact sent pain shooting up her legs.

Kunal grabbed the back of her head. Both hands tangled in her wet hair. He pulled her forward. Forced her mouth onto his cock.

Then he started fucking her face. Not like the earlier blowjob where she'd had some control. This was just brutal. Using her mouth like another hole.

The angle was wrong. He was too deep. The gagging was constant.

Water streamed over her face. Running into her nose. Making it impossible to breathe properly.

She tried to pull back. Get some air. But his hands were locked. Holding her in place.

Black spots appeared in her vision. Panic started building. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't escape.

Just when she thought she'd pass out, Kunal pulled her off. Let her gasp for air. Cough and sputter.

Then he did it again. Forced her back onto his cock. Held her there until she was choking. Released her just before she blacked out.

The pattern repeated. Each time he held her longer. Each time she got closer to passing out completely.

Her hands came up. Gripped his thighs. Not pushing away. Just holding on. Trusting him to know the limit.

Trusting her boss. The man who'd called her a slut. Who'd fucked her in front of his neighbors. Who'd made her confess her shame while his wife was on the phone.

The realization should have horrified her. Instead it just made her wetter.

Kunal's rhythm changed. Got faster. More erratic. He was close.

He pulled out of her mouth. Kept one hand tangled in her hair. The other hand moved to his cock. Started stroking.

"Look at me," he commanded.

Aloma looked up. Water streaming over her face. Makeup completely destroyed. Eyes red from crying and choking.

"Open your mouth."

She did. Let her jaw hang open. Made herself available for whatever he wanted.

Kunal came. Hot streams of come hitting her face. Covering her nose. Her cheeks. Her open mouth. Some of it landed in her hair.

The shower water washed it away almost immediately. Diluted and dissolved. But more kept coming. Coating her. Marking her.

He aimed for her mouth specifically. Making sure she tasted it. Making sure she swallowed.

When he finished, he released her hair. Stepped back. His cock was still semi-hard. Still dripping.

Aloma stayed on her knees. Water washing over her. Cleaning away the evidence. She swallowed what had landed in her mouth. Tasted salt and bitterness.

Kunal stepped out of the shower. Water dripped from his clothes. Created puddles on the bathroom floor.

He stripped efficiently. Pulled off the soaked shirt. Stepped out of the jeans and shoes. Kicked everything into a corner.

Naked now. His heavy frame. The sagging skin. The graying chest hair. Everything that should have made him unappealing.

"You're staying tonight," he said. Not a question. A statement.

Aloma didn't respond. Just stayed kneeling under the water.

"Not in here," he continued. "Guest bedroom. Down the hall."

He grabbed a towel from the rack. Dried himself roughly. Wrapped it around his waist.

"Clean yourself up," he said. "Then get out."

He left the bathroom. The door closed behind him.

Aloma stayed under the water for a long time. Let the cold spray wash over her. Watched the last traces of makeup disappear down the drain.

Eventually she stood. Her legs were more stable now. The trembling had mostly stopped.

She found soap. Shampoo. Washed methodically. Hair. Body. Between her legs where his come was still leaking out.

The water temperature didn't change. Stayed cold. She didn't bother trying to adjust it.

When she was clean, she turned off the water. Stepped out onto the bathroom floor. Water dripped from her body. Created a puddle around her feet.

Towels were stacked on a shelf. She took one. Dried herself mechanically. The motions were automatic. Familiar.

She wrapped the towel around her body. It covered from her breasts to mid-thigh. Plush and expensive. Probably cost more than her weekly grocery budget.

The bathroom mirror was fogged. She wiped a clear spot. Looked at her reflection.

Her face was bare. No makeup. Her skin looked pale without the foundation. Younger. The red in her hair was more faded than she'd realized. Needed touching up.

Her eyes had dark circles. Exhaustion. The choker was still around her neck. Black fabric with the small silver crucifix. The only thing she was still wearing besides the towel.

She touched it. The metal was cold. Reminded her of going to church with her mother when she was young. Before she'd stopped believing. Before she'd moved out and away.

What would her mother say if she could see this? Her daughter. Naked in her married boss's bathroom. Used and degraded and marked in ways that wouldn't wash away.

Aloma left the bathroom. Stepped into the master bedroom. The space was massive. Everything was white and clean. Minimalist furniture. No clutter.

Photos were scattered throughout. Family pictures in expensive frames. Kunal with his wife. Two children. A daughter who looked about Aloma's age. A younger son.

Disneyland. The beach. Some mountain resort. Happy moments captured and displayed.

The wife was beautiful. Older than Aloma. Maybe late forties. Elegant. The kind of woman who aged gracefully. Who belonged in spaces like this.

Aloma looked at the daughter's face. Anoushka. She'd heard the name on the phone call. The girl was smiling in the photo. Wearing a graduation gown. Proud parents on either side.

They looked happy. Complete. A family.

Aloma turned away. She needed to find her clothes. Get dressed. Leave.

But when she looked around the bedroom, her clothes weren't there. The MISANDRIST shirt. The plaid skirt. The sheer bra and thong that had been removed at various points during the night.

Nothing.

She checked the living room. The kitchen. The balcony where her thong had finally come free.

Everything was gone.

Panic started building. How was she supposed to leave without clothes? She couldn't walk through the building lobby wrapped in a towel.

The guest bedroom. Kunal had said to go there. Maybe he'd left her clothes there.

She found the room down the hall. Smaller than the master. Still nicer than anywhere she'd ever lived.

No clothes on the bed. No clothes anywhere.

Just another collection of family photos. The wife. The kids. Vacation memories. Birthday parties. Graduations.

Aloma sat on the edge of the bed. The towel was still wrapped around her. Her hair was drying. Getting frizzy.

She should leave. Should demand her clothes back. Should call an Uber and get out of this penthouse.

Instead she just sat there. Staring at photos of Kunal's family. Wondering what she'd become.

The bed was soft. The sheets were clean and cool. She was so tired. More exhausted than she could remember being.

Just a few minutes of rest. Then she'd figure out what to do.

She lay down. Still wrapped in the towel. Her head hit the pillow.

The room was dark except for ambient light from the hallway. Quiet except for the hum of central air conditioning.

Aloma closed her eyes. Just for a moment.

Sleep came immediately. Pulled her under before she could resist.

The sleep was deep but restless. Dreams that made no sense. Fragments of the night replaying in distorted ways. Kunal's voice. His hands. The feeling of being exposed on the balcony while neighbors watched.

She woke multiple times. Disoriented. Unsure where she was. Then memory would return and she'd close her eyes again.

Early morning light was filtering through the windows when the door opened.

Aloma jolted awake. Sat up. Clutched the towel.

Kunal stood in the doorway. Fully dressed now. Fresh clothes. Hair combed. He looked ready for a normal day.

He held something in his hands. Fabric. He tossed it onto the bed next to her.

"Your clothes are gone," he said. His voice was matter-of-fact. "Put this on."

Aloma picked up what he'd thrown. A dress. Light blue. Floral pattern. The kind of thing a college student might wear.

Recognition hit her. She'd seen this dress before. In the photos. On Anoushka.

"This is your daughter's," she said.

"Obviously," Kunal replied.